Review: Dancing on the ceiling with Lionel Richie at Union Transfer
The easy listening and 'American Idol' star played a hit-filled intimate show for Wells Fargo credit card holders.
He had them at “Hello.”
What else was Lionel Richie going to start his show with on Saturday night at Union Transfer?
The 1984 chart-topping single — more of an undeniable earworm than Adele’s 2015 hit of the same name — was the obvious musical introduction for an audience pleased with itself to be seeing the enduring global pop and American Idol star in a room far smaller than the capacious places he’s accustomed to playing.
The more obvious question: What was Lionel Richie doing performing at a 1,200-person-capacity venue normally reserved for scrappy young bands rather than household name easy-listening performers who have sold over 100 million records and whose last Philadelphia appearance was at the Wells Fargo Center, a venue nearly 20 times the size?
The answer is simple: It was a credit card company promotion. Ticket sales were limited to Wells Fargo Autograph cardholders. The one-off show was part of a big-stars-playing-small-venues series that kicked off in 2023 with a Mumford & Sons show in Los Angeles and has included dates around the country with Brandi Carlile, Halsey, and Imagine Dragons.
On Saturday, the special occasion vibe in the sold-out crowd — mostly American Idol fans in their 40s and 50s, plus some older longtime fans — was underscored by the specialty drinks available at bars in the general admission venue.
People partying upstairs in the All Night Lounge had options that included a Dancing on the Ceiling, which mixed bourbon and peach liqueur, or an Endless Love, blending rum and lime juice. VIPs were presented with commemorative posters on the way out, and — after being serenaded with “Three Times a Lady” among many vows of adoration — were gifted with bouquets of fresh-cut roses. Classy!
For a hit-filled hour and a half, Richie was backed by a polished five-piece band that drew on his 1980s years as soft rock balladeer, solo superstar, and (thankfully) also the Commodores, the 1970s dance music band formed at the Tuskegee Institute in his native Alabama who also specialized in booty-moving James Brown-influenced funk.
Dressed in black shirt and slacks accessorized with a succession of shiny jackets — white, snakeskin and teal — Richie, at 75, is a fit and energetic entertainer, a total pro who sat at a grand piano for short intervals but mostly stayed out front to interact with his people.
The show didn’t take advantage of the cozy setting to create intimate musical moments. Instead, it felt like an arena-sized presentation shoehorned into a smaller space. The band that spotlighted guitarist Grecco Buratto and saxophonist and keyboard player Dino Soldo was proficient but hammy, with big gestures that played to nosebleeds seats that didn’t exist.
Richie is an engaging presence who seemed to be enjoying the novelty of the experience. “I haven’t been in a club in so long,” he said. “I like to see people in the audience sweating as much as I am onstage.”
He’s also a joker with a penchant for endearing shtick, with most of his barbs directed either at his American Idol colleague and chum Luke Bryan or himself, with lots of quips about his various age-related infirmities.
“For all of you wondering how the hell I’m doing, the answer is …” he said in a deadpan delivery, “... I’m in pain.” He said that after the show he would be worked on by a team of doctors, “get seven massages and drink 14 bottles of water. And then I’ll be up peeing all night.” He chuckled and said, “I just made that up, in Philadelphia.”
Richie’s voice is in fine if not remarkable shape. Early on, he promised “an all-night karaoke party.” That was fine by the crowd, happy to help on songs they knew every word to such as “You Are,” “Easy,” and “Stuck on You,” and get particularly boisterous on “Dancing on the Ceiling,” which included elements of Van Halen’s “Jump.”
At one point he playfully chastised the crowd for taking audience participation too far and stealing the spotlight. “The advertisement said to come see Lionel Richie,” he said. “It didn’t say to be Lionel Richie.”
The global superstar told a tale of excessive fandom from a recent show in Abu Dhabi, where he met a man who attended with his two sons, one named Lionel and one named Richie. “Who does that?” Richie asked incredulously.
The closest act of devotion at Union Transfer came when Richie spotted a superfan at the foot of the stage hoping he would autograph her arm. Before bringing her on stage, Richie talked about how he was trying to sing “Say You, Say Me” but kept getting distracted.
“I’m trying to concentrate and give you your money’s worth, when I’m in myself and trying to give you the artist that is Lionel Richie. And I’m looking at a sign that says: “I WANT TO GET A TATTOO. Please sign my arm.”
He was kidding — and he did bring her up on stage and sign her arm. But the point about concentration was germane. As energetic and entertaining as the show was — and as likable as Richie is — he was rarely fully engaged with the material. He’d connect for a verse or so, then let loose on his hold of the song and let the crowd take over. Fun for everybody, but not quite fulfilling.
In that context, the highlight of the show was “We Are the World.” Richie cowrote the 1985 USA for Africa charity anthem with Michael Jackson. The 2024 Netflix movie The Greatest Night in Pop is a reminder of how big of a star he was at the time.
Sure, the song is schmaltzy and patronizing, a prime example of presumptuous pop stars with a savior complex. But on Saturday, it won out by being earnest. Richie slipped into preacher mode, presenting it as a song of healing at an embittered, divided time.
“God did not put us on this earth to be against each other,” he said. “God put us on this earth to be a family.” And then he sang it like he meant it.